You're used to it by now. The shop, the eerie masks, the casualness.

You lay there wedged between his legs, his back pressed against the leather couch. His legs are spread slightly, knee bent at your side, a lazy support

"This one's difficult," He muses, his long fingers move lazily, tracing the leather straps of your mask, adjusting the fit.

One of his hands rests against your spine, fingers tracing absentmindedly. "Might take longer."